"I never thought that I'd be covering hickeys on your neck, Claire," says Popuri, leaning over to dab some more concealer over the bruised lovemarks along her friend's pulse. One trails as low as her collarbone. Claire shifts in her seat, wondering how she thought tank tops and boyfriends could ever be a good mix.
"This is my first time getting one," she says uncomfortably, craning her neck so that Popuri can apply what feels like fourteen layers of camouflaging pink powder. She didn't think that Trent's soft lips lavishing her could cause this much damage. What started off as him harmlessly pausing the documentary that he intended on showing her ended with her being wrapped in a splatter of hickeys. They're fading, but still alarmingly prominent.
Trent came out of it all unscathed, though. She couldn't muster up the courage to bite and nip at his neck the way that he did for her, even if he kept prodding her to try and do so.
Ann has already slipped out of her overalls and into her bridesmaid dress. She pulls her hair into a sloppy ponytail, watching as Popuri's brush swipes and pats its way across Claire's neck. "One? Try, like, six."
It's only five; Claire knows this because she counted each purplish blob out. They look painful, suffocating her delicate skin like a choker. But it felt kind of nice to receive them. Maybe getting them even made her a little bit aroused, if she's being honest. Her new territorial feeling doesn't come without confusion, though. It's just that if Trent was paying attention to her neck, it meant that his hands wouldn't be roaming around her body elsewhere; thus, helping her to feel more at ease and in control of the situation. Because Claire has been feeling very out of control around him lately. Kissing him is like sliding on ice, without the ability to get an easy grip.
"Men are so dumb. And this clearly isn't his first rodeo; doesn't he know to keep 'em hidden?" Karen asks incredulously. She leans over her vanity mirror, applying another layer of mascara while only wearing her bra and underwear. If her lashes weren't coated in wet blackness, she'd surely be rolling her eyes right now.
Turning to Ann, she grabs a new mascara wand, pointing it at her. "Nooo way, you are not putting makeup on me today. I don't care if you throw a bridezilla fit!"
Karen laughs as she chases her with the mascara, still clad only in her undergarments. The scar along her abdomen looks extra red today. Claire doesn't understand how she's walking down the aisle in less than an hour, while still acting so blasé about everything. It's kind of inspiring, in a way.
Sasha gathers the ruching of her mother-of-the-bride gown in her hands as she carefully trots up the stairs to her daughter's room. A jewel-encrusted brooch, shaped like a vine leaf, glints on the thick straps of her dress. "Karen!" she snaps, watching as the bride-to-be aims her mascara wand at Ann like a weapon. "Why aren't you dressed yet?!"
Karen stops right in her tracks, dismissing her mother with a shrug. Apparently, she isn't afraid of Sasha's self-proclaimed "Russian fury" today. "Ma, calm yourself," she says, dropping the mascara to the floor. She walks over to the edge of her bed, where her wedding gown as been laid out of its plastic casing. She reaches her arms behind her to remove the clasps of her bra, letting her breasts fall.
Sasha facepalms at the sight of Popuri widening her eyes at Karen's chest. "Karen, have you no class? And really, in front of Rick's little sister?"
"Nothing Rick hasn't seen before," Ann mutters under her breath. Popuri groans, giving her a "please-don't-make-me-think-of-my-brother-in-that-sort-of-context" look, before burying her head in her hands.
Karen holds out a pair of sticky pasties, placing them over her nipples. "Are these straight?" she asks Claire.
Claire tilts her head, not understanding why it would even matter. "Uh, I think?"
"Seriously, Karen?" Sasha rubs her temples as her daughter slips into her strapless wedding dress. Karen shimmies it over her legs and hips, covering her intimate, exposed flesh at last.
She waves her hand flippantly, adjusting the gown accordingly. "I literally don't care. We all have tits." She glances at Ann. "Well, some of us do." Sasha walks behind Karen to tighten the lace against her back aggressively, as though this might act as a different form of discipline for her adult daughter.
While Ann bickers with Karen, Popuri and Claire take this opportunity to change into the matching bridesmaids dresses that have been carefully selected for them. Karen chose an A-line cut in a baby yellow colour, the kind of hue that tends to wash out people who are as pale as them. It wraps into a tie-back halter design on the top, with a v cut in the back. The designer must have taken inspiration from what Paris Hilton's been wearing lately.
Of course, Karen would pick something like this. Although it initially made her nervous, what with the open back and all, she figures no one will be paying attention to her today. Plus, the church requires a shawl of some sort to cover up any bare skin regardless.
Popuri whisks Ann aside to properly pull her hair back after she's finished with Claire's makeup. Sasha turns, handing her some coffee-stained pieces of sheet music, smiling weakly. "Could you run out and give these to Mary, hun?"
Ann lets out a groan, but Popuri just knots her hair more forcefully. "She's coming today?"
"I felt really bad for calling her a bitch," Karen explains to Ann through her reflection in the mirror. "And for pulling her braid. Plus, Carter says that she plays all of the wedding masses, so I figured that making peace was the right thing to do."
"Traitor," Ann says from across the room, her grudge apparent and unconcealed. Karen pulls her eyelid down at her, while Sasha scolds her daughter once again. Claire just figures that this is as good a time as any to get out.
"Hey," she says, gingerly tapping Mineral Town Library's wooden doorframe with her knuckles. This action proves to be pointless though, because she's already walked in. Mary has cracked the spine to another book from across the room, gazing at Claire over the flipped pages spread out on her desk.
"Hello, Claire."
"What's up?" she asks. Seeing at how trivial and dumb this question is, she decides to continue her sentence. "You don't look dressed yet! Aren't you coming to the reception?"
"This is… what I'm wearing to the church." Mary folds her book over, flat on the desk, sizing Claire up. "That gown actually looks really nice on you."
"Oh," says Claire, taken aback. She feels rather washed out in it, if she's being honest. Plus, she's on her period, and the material isn't the most forgiving on bloated stomachs like hers. "Thank you! That's sweet of you to say." This can't be the same person who lost her crap on Ann and Gray that night, right?
Mary gives her a sad smile. "It's no wonder guys like you so much."
Er, what?
"They don't," she clarifies incredulously. The most any guy expressed that he "liked her" was when some idiot threw a "nice rack ;)" note at her in high school band practice. And people say romance is dead.
Mary just stares at the spot on Claire's neck where her hickeys are clearly not as covered as she'd like for them to be. Oh, Trent, Claire realizes. The only guy who's ever liked me. Sweet, handsome Trent. But besides him, there's really been no one else.
"To answer your question," Mary says, rising to take the sheet music from Claire's hands. "No, I won't be going to the reception. I hardly want to attend the church, but they need an organist, and since Karen apologized, it seemed fitting." She pushes her glasses further up her nose, squinting at the musical bars drawn out on the paper.
"Pretty sure everyone's going, though," says Claire, following Mary through the aisles upon aisles of books. She's never been much of a reader, besides the Bible verses that she'd have to sift through back at the convent. Why did Jesus curse the fig tree again? She's just always been able to absorb more of what she saw in television and film.
"Is your boyfriend?"
Her question catches Claire by surprise. How many people know that she and Trent are official? The thought of it all makes her giddy. "Well, he said that he might stop by, but he isn't sure."
"Then evidently, not everyone is going."
Claire laughs. "You always sound so smart," she says, impressed. "Like your words have come straight out of a novel!"
Mary's cheeks turn pink, as though she is reflecting on how to take this compliment. "I read quite a bit."
"Do you write?"
"Look, I'd just rather just not engage in social interaction tonight."
"Jeez," says Claire. "You remind me of-"
"Gray?" Mary finishes, arching a brow. Talking to her like this, Claire doesn't feel intimidated at all. That fateful night at the inn could have just been a night of mistakes for everyone. Maybe Mary's built-up anger and wary demeanor has just been a protective front all along.
"Well, kind of."
"Hmm." The librarian gets a thoughtful look on her face.
"Am I missing something?" Claire asks, puzzled. "Don't you hate him?"
"What?" She furrows her brow. "Oh, no. I hate Ann, and I suppose that he just got caught up in the crossfire of my disdain."
Definitely talks like a novelist. "Why don't you like her? Because they slept together?" Claire is suddenly very curious. Where does the origin for this amount of detestation begin?
Mary shakes her head, pieces of her loose braid tumbling out of their place. "As if that's the main focal point. It runs much deeper than that."
"… I see," Claire says, glancing at the clock above the tallest bookshelf. The wedding is set to commence in less than fifteen minutes, and Popuri still has to finish her hair. Given how much of it that she has, this is no one-and-done quick task.
"Also, if you think that I hate everyone who associates with her," Mary continues. "Then that's also not the case."
Definitely seems to be the case for Ann, though. "So you don't hate me then?"
"Ugh." She rolls her eyes, returning back to her desk. A stack of books are loaded to the left of her, high and teetering, like pieces of a Jenga game about to fall. "This is juvenile and silly."
"Do you?"
"No," Mary finally replies, as though this has required some serious thinking. "I mean, it really wouldn't kill you to come by here and check out a book every once in awhile, but I don't hate you."
"Ah," she says, feeling her intelligence mildly insulted. "Tell you what: I'll read a book that you recommend to me, if you come to the reception tonight."
Claire isn't exactly sure why she's trying hard to do this. She's never been one to have a lot of friends, but living here makes her want to be cool with everyone. Plus, it isn't easy to be introverted in a town full of extroverts. There's also two sides to every story, and she really doesn't know either of them.
And then, there's the fact that she doesn't want Mary to be all alone tonight, with just these books around her.
But, what if Mary was just purposely trying to be mean spirited that night? Maybe she made her bed, and now she has to lie in it.
"I'm through with deals," answers Mary, looking off into the window disdainfully. "And betting, and all that crap." Claire wonders what she means by all of this, until a hardcover book from the top of the stacked pile is jutted in her face. "But take out this one out regardless. I promise that you'll enjoy it."
"Why do Mary and Ann hate each other so much?" Claire asks, clasping the cross pin that Gray made for her over the thin fabric of her dress. Popuri twists her hair above her head. She's gonna rip out my scalp!
"You saw what happened at the inn that night, didn't you?" She secures the top knot with a tawny brown claw clip, marvelling at her work in the mirror.
Claire ruffles her bangs over her forehead. "No, I mean like, where'd it start?"
"Something about their moms, I'm not too sure," Popuri answers, sighing. "Anna always likes to get in people's business."
"Sasha and Manna gossip just as much, though," she says, but Popuri's already getting ready to leave, standing excitedly next to Karen and Ann by the front door.
Three shots of vodka can really work wonders for someone as sleep deprived as Gray. He leans outside the church, relishing in the buzz that he's feeling from all the alcohol he consumed at Rick's house earlier. He's been up since four, making that damn olive branch brooch for Sasha, and has already planned for the amount of drinking that he's going to need to compensate for this shitty night.
With the rest of the townspeople already inside, Rick follows his mother through the church doors. He's visibly shaking from his nerves, but Lillia tries to gently console him. Someone needs a lot more than vodka.
Gray has already decided that he isn't going to get married. As nihilistic as it sounds, there's really no point to marriage. It always ends, in one way or another; whether it's by divorce or death. Even if he miraculously did have a change of heart, his mother obviously wouldn't be there in attendance.
"Drunk sex is the best sex," Kai says, throwing his arms around Gray and Cliff. All that he's been talking about since this morning is how wasted they're all going to get tonight at the party. Gray's already got a head start.
Cliff gives him a quizzical look. "Um, arguably I'd say that it's the most regrettable kind of sex."
He's right on that one. Gray thinks back to that night where he found Ann half-naked and perched on his bed, the taste of wine on both of their lips.
"Nah." Kai waves his hand dismissively. "It's loads of fun."
Loads. "Don't be gross," Gray says with a laugh. "We're about to go to mass."
Karen and her parents walk over to the front of the church, with Mary silently following behind them, clutching some antique sheet music for the organ in her hand. Gray wonders when she and Karen made peace, or how Ann feels about all of this. She's always been the worst for holding grudges.
The sun beats down on him as he brings his black cap over his head. It's a ridiculously hot and bright day, the kind that most girls would typically envision for their wedding. Karen basks in the sunlight, her bare leg exposed from a purposeful slit in her dress. She's left pieces of her highlighted hair down to frame her face, the rest of it pulled back with a thousand bobby pins and an entire can of hairspray. From beneath her veil, her green eyes sparkle as she clutches Jeff's hand.
Gray getting married would also likely mean having his father attend the wedding. Which would mean inviting him. Which would mean speaking to him. No thanks.
Mary quietly darts inside of the church at the sight of Ann running up the road with May. Claire and Popuri follow, clutching Stu's hand and laughing. Almost immediately, Gray can hear the church bells chime, while the organ resonates. Karen's bridesmaids quickly walk over, waving at the suited groomsmen in their matching yellow dresses. Ann clings to Cliff, and the music vibrates as they begin to make their way inside.
Claire steps next to Gray, clutching a bouquet of candy coloured pinkcat flowers in her hands. "Dang, church two days in a row? This must be a new record for you," she says, winking at him. The frosty shimmer on her eyelids glints in the sun.
How is he supposed to ever tell this girl goodbye?
Despite their constant disagreements, Gray knows that Claire considers him to be a big part of her life, and vice versa. They're best friends, according to her. So why can't he just feel that same way? Why'd he have to go and confuse everything by falling for her?
Maybe I'm just infatuated.
Or maybe it's real.
He just nods at her, keeping his eyes fixed forward. The less that he speaks to her, the easier this will all be in the end, for the both of them.
Before it's their turn to walk in, Claire quickly rushes over to where Karen is standing, grinning as she throws her arms around the bride.
"You look beautiful. I'm so happy for you!" she says, hugging her while clutching the bouquet tightly. Why does she have to be so pure at heart? Why'd he have to be so attracted to her as well? Why couldn't she just be cruel and nasty? "Love you, Karen." The two girls smile at each other, blinking back tears.
What are they even crying about? Gray used to think that he understood girls, but lately, he isn't so sure. Claire quickly returns to his side.
"What are you doing?" he finds himself asking her, against his better judgement. He blames it solely on the buzz.
They walk up the steps of the church. "It's all so emotional," Claire says, dabbing at her inner corner with her pinky finger.
"Is it really?" Gray looks at her dubiously. Behind them, May and Stu are arguing about who is more important: she, the flower girl, or he, the ring boy.
Claire wraps her arm around Gray's, walking carefully up the steps of the church in her heels. He figures that there's really no point to her wearing these painful shoes, since they hardly give her additional height on anyone. Her stature is still right below his shoulder blade.
"Karen flashed me this morning," she says plainly.
"Um, what?" He isn't sure that he's heard her correctly.
Claire shrugs, then smiles as they step into the church. "We're practically sisters now."
Yeah, he really doesn't get girls.
Maybe Gray should always do a couple of shots before church, because the wedding mass feels like it's going by exceptionally quick. He and Claire sit in a pew in front of his grandfather, as Rick swipes at his eyes at the alter, across from Karen.
"Get a grip," Kai groans under his breath.
Claire turns to him tearfully. "It's just all so emotional!" she tells him quietly. Gray wonders how many times she's going to use that as an excuse to bawl today.
"He wasn't talking to you, Blondie," he says, hardly concealing a smile. Before long, Rick and Karen are exchanging their own vows, while Carter lets everyone know that it's time to give peace.
Claire turns herself to face Gray's grandfather behind them. "Peace be with you, Saibara," she says, taking his hand and kissing his cheek. Beyond his thick eyebrows, Saibara's eyes light up. He quickly averts his attention to his grandson.
"Uh, peace be with you, Gramps," Gray says. He shakes his grandfather's hand, before turning to Kai, Popuri, and then finally, Claire.
"Peace be with you, Gray," she says, taking his hand, and is this déjà vu?
No.
Déjà vu is reliving the same thing. This doesn't have to be the same thing.
This can be different.
Ah, what the hell. Amidst the alcoholic fog of his brain, he decides that it's a grand idea to lean in and kiss Claire's cheek. His lips linger for almost a second too long on her face before he quickly pulls back.
"Peace be with you, Claire," Gray tells her. She just smiles at him, and it makes him forget his dumb mantra entirely. He accepts his inability to forget about her. He can't cut her out; no freaking way. He doesn't care if he's only known her for a season. He's got a lifetime to get to know her more. He's never wanted someone to stay in his life more than he does right now.
Before long, Carter announces that Karen and Rick are officially man and wife. The two share kiss at the front, while everyone claps and cheers for them. Claire looks over at them hopefully, her eyes glistening with moisture.
Gray keeps his gaze on her, though. If he's really taking on a nihilistic approach to weddings, then there's no point to getting married.
But there's also no point to not getting married either.
And maybe, just maybe, a wedding wouldn't be so bad after all, if Claire is the one standing across from Gray at the altar.
Maybe this is all the alcohol talking.
But maybe he doesn't mind.
